


Songs in the Key of Love

by MalenkayaCherepakha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Classic 90s/00s songs, Clubbing, Getting Together, Harry likes to whistle but isn't very good at it, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, blink and you'll miss it rimming, enjoy getting these songs stuck in your head, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-04-24 14:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19175443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaCherepakha/pseuds/MalenkayaCherepakha
Summary: Harry Potter had been irritating Draco since the day they met, and Draco thought he knew every frustrating little aspect of the man after so many years of rivalry.But then they were paired together as Auror partners, and things got so much worse.Apparently, Harry liked to whistle while he worked, and it was the single most annoying sound Draco had ever heard in his life.





	Songs in the Key of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RuArcher (Coriesocks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/gifts).



> This Wireless 2019 fic was written for Corie's fantastic prompt, based on the song 'Whistle while you work' (Snow White and the Seven Dwarves). Thank you Corie for such an amazing prompt, I had so much fun writing it.
> 
> Massive thanks have to go to my alpha, L - I couldn't have done this without you, and your comments and questions were so helpful. 
> 
> Thank you also to P for being an incredible beta and for all your squeeing comments in the doc.
> 
> Finally, thank you to the mods for running such an amazing fest!

Draco had always kept lists in his head, ever since he was little. He had countless lists stored in his mind, cataloguing a wide variety of things such as _All time favourite places to eat, Books to read_ and _Best hiding places in the Manor_ , but the one that he always came back to most frequently was the list entitled _Annoying things about Harry Potter_. 

Draco had been working on that particular list for years. Harry’s hair had always been in first place - you’d think that the heir to the Sleekeazy’s fortune would know how to style their hair, but no, Harry’s wild curls always roamed free, untamed. For some reason the sight of that messy hair had always been able to provoke a reaction in Draco. Add to that the way the teachers had fawned over Harry at school and his irritating ability to always beat Draco at Quidditch, and well, it was clear why Draco found Harry so annoying. 

For many years the list stayed the same; the order of the items would occasionally be shuffled around as Harry did something particularly irritating, but in general, the list was fixed. Draco was sure he had discovered every annoying little aspect of the man. 

In the last month though, Draco had realised that there was something missing. Upon discovery, it had swiftly been added to the list, and was quickly climbing the ranks, to the point where it was even threatening to oust Harry’s hair from the top spot. 

Apparently, Harry liked to whistle while he worked, and it was the single most annoying sound Draco had ever heard in his life.

* * *

After the war, Draco’s future had been an unclear, hazy thing. During his months of house arrest in the lead up to his trial, Draco had been sure that his destiny was Azkaban. He just couldn’t see any other option - there was no way he would escape imprisonment, and in fact, he firmly believed he deserved it. 

But then he went to trial. 

And, thanks to Harry Potter’s intervention, he walked away with nothing more than some community service, the jury having decided that his age at the time of his crimes absolved him of the majority of them. He’d felt a confusing mix of guilt and relief as the jury pronounced his sentence, a feeling only compounded when he heard them sentence his father to life in Azkaban. 

Once his community service was complete, Draco found himself at a loose end. Having never expected a future, he’d never planned for one, and therefore had no idea what to do with himself. 

After much reflection, Draco had decided to join the Aurors. It felt like a form of penance, making up for his lenient sentence and the mistakes of his youth by ridding the world of evil.  
Of course, it hadn’t been easy at first. There had been a lot of prejudice to overcome, and his fellow trainees were clearly unhappy to have him there. Many of them didn’t seem to believe that he had truly repented, and decided that he was only there to help the criminals. There was no way that Draco Malfoy could be good, after all. Malfoys were evil through and through, everyone knew that. 

But Draco persevered, trying his best to ignore the name calling, and the hexes, and the dirty looks that followed him through the corridors of the Ministry. It was hard, really hard, and there were times when Draco was sorely tempted to quit, unable to bear another evening spent dreading what his fellow trainees might do to him the next day. Malfoys were nothing if not stubborn though, and Draco was determined not to let the others get to him. 

He managed to make it through training mostly intact, although several particularly nasty hexes had left their mark on him. The moment when he was made a fully fledged Auror ranked as one of the proudest of his life - finally he had achieved something, and not by buying it, or using his family’s influence, but through sheer hard work and bloody-mindedness. The glares of the other Aurors couldn’t touch him that day; nothing they said could take the shine off his achievement. 

Things began to get better for Draco after that. 

Much to Draco’s annoyance, it was mostly because he had been partnered with Harry Potter. 

Harry soon made it known to the other trainees that he was perfectly alright being partnered with Draco, thanks very much, and would they please stop hexing Draco, as it made it quite hard for them to get any work done. 

Annoying though it was that he’d needed Potter to save him yet again, Draco couldn’t help being grateful. It was much easier to get through a work day when you didn’t need to look round every corner to check for potential danger. To Draco’s surprise, they also got on very well. 

They’d buried the hatchet after the trial, when Draco had swallowed his pride and reached out to Harry to say thank you for testifying on his behalf. They’d exchanged a few owls but nothing more had come of it, until they were partnered together. Being made to spend eight hours a day in the same office had forced them to get to know each other, and they soon discovered that they enjoyed spending time together. They made a good team too, Draco’s cunning mind combining perfectly with Harry’s penchant for jumping straight in to action, the pairing bringing out the best in each one while tamping down their more unfavourable characteristics. Soon they had the highest solve rate of all the rookie Aurors. 

In general then, things were good, and it would have been wrong of Draco to complain about Harry, considering all he had done for him. 

But the whistling. Merlin, the whistling. 

To begin with, Draco hadn’t noticed it. But then one day, when they were trying to put together all the clues to solve a burglary they were working on, it was suddenly all he could hear. Harry was completely absorbed in the file he was studying, eyes flicking backwards and forwards as he read the notes they had made during their investigation, quietly whistling to himself. 

Draco stared at him, hoping that the power of his glare would force Harry to be quiet. It made no difference. Harry paid no attention to Draco, and simply continued to read and whistle, blissfully unaware of the agitation building up in Draco. Draco came to the conclusion that Harry simply had no idea that he was even doing anything, so wrapped up in the case he was trying to solve that he had started whistling without realising. 

A pattern quickly developed; Harry would whistle, and Draco would quietly seethe with suppressed rage until Harry stopped. It soon became clear that it was something Harry did to help himself concentrate. He only tended to do it when he was trying to make sense of a bunch of clues or puzzle out the details of a case. 

Harry would sit there, feet up on his desk, leaning back in his chair, staring at his case file, and he would whistle. This could go on for hours, depending on how engrossed Harry was with his case. It seemed to be completely unconscious, which somehow made it even more annoying, as Draco felt like he couldn’t get cross about something Harry wasn’t doing on purpose. And if it helped Harry concentrate, who was Draco to tell him to stop? They were still solving more cases than any other rookie pairing, an accolade that was gradually raising Draco in his coworkers’ esteem, and so Draco supposed that he should even be grateful that the whistling helped Harry work.

Harry didn’t always whistle the same tune, although he would go through phases where one song would get stuck in his head. He would end up whistling the same thing for hours on end, causing it to get stuck in Draco’s head too. It got to the point where Draco would have gladly given all the gold in his Gringotts account to please, _please_ make _All Star_ stop playing on repeat in his mind. 

Before working with Harry, Draco would have struggled to list five songs he hated, but now the list was getting very long, and was lengthening nearly every day. Worse than the songs he hated though, was Harry whistling songs Draco loved. 

The first time Harry had started whistling one of Draco's favourite songs, Draco hadn't minded it. It was sort of like hearing a beloved song on a shitty wireless - nowhere near as good as the original, but better than not hearing it at all. It made a nice change from all the songs Draco hated too. 

By the time Harry had whistled the song six times in two hours though, Draco had reassessed that opinion. Harry wasn't necessarily a bad whistler, but it was almost physically painful for Draco to have to listen to a beautiful song whistled shrilly for hours. It quickly became clear that the song was absolutely ruined and he would never be able to listen to it again. 

That evening Draco had gone home from work in an absolutely hideous mood, and had spent a solid hour ranting about Potter (for he was Potter when he was being annoying) to his owl. Leander, a majestic long-eared owl, had been Draco’s for nearly a year now, and was very friendly, always joining Draco in the kitchen as he prepared dinner, scarfing any scraps Draco threw his way. 

As Draco cooked his dinner, he told his very patient owl all about how annoying Harry’s whistling was. 

‘He’s taken it too far this time, Leander,’ Draco was saying. ‘Despite what the world might think of me, I actually am quite a forgiving man, but that butchering of _Iris_ is beyond forgiveness.’ 

Leander hooted softly, a noise which Draco decided to interpret as commiseration.

‘Yes, exactly, you see why I’m annoyed. Merlin knows I’m happy that it helps him concentrate but it’s ruining my ability to focus.’

Draco plated up his pasta carbonara, throwing the spare scraps of bacon to Leander. 

‘Honestly, Leander, I don’t know if I can take it much longer,’ he said, giving the owl a quick stroke on his way out of the room.

* * *

One day, it all became too much. 

He’d started the day in a bad mood. The previous evening he’d been for dinner at Malfoy Manor, and visiting that house never failed to make his mood turn sour. His mother had done her best to redecorate, to try and make it a home again, but Draco couldn’t forget the horrors that the house had held, the darkness that had wandered through its halls. He always left feeling in need of a shower to wash away the lingering sense of unpleasantness and guilt that permeated his skin. 

As always, his visit home was followed by a nightmare. Draco had mostly stopped having nightmares now, but somehow that made the ones he did have even worse. That night he had dreamt that he was back living in a Manor taken over by Voldemort. He relived the days and nights he spent hiding in his room, listening intently for any footsteps in the hall that might indicate that someone was coming to find him. 

The nightmare was hyper realistic in the way that only nightmares based on real experiences can be. Draco could feel ice cold fear running through his veins, could feel the panicked beating of his heart as he relived some of the worst moments of his life. Draco had jolted awake in the early hours of the morning and was unable to fall back asleep, his body and mind fighting his tiredness, wary of falling back into the nightmare. 

Safe to say, when he got to work that morning, sorely needed coffee clenched tightly in his hand, Draco wasn’t in the best mood. The case they were working on was testing his patience too; someone was making batches of supposedly routine potions but adding volatile ingredients that were making people ill rather than fixing their ailments. Draco usually loved working potions cases, enjoying a chance to indulge in his childhood interest, but this one was frustrating him. They’d been trying to solve it for weeks now and were getting nowhere, and while they faffed around trying to piece together clues, people were getting hurt. He was determined to crack it today though; the memories that the previous night had dredged up making him even more determined than usual to stamp out all forms of evil. 

Due to his inability to sleep, Draco had got in to the office early, and so by the time Harry arrived Draco was firmly engrossed in his case file. He’d decided to start from scratch, as if he’d never worked on the case before, in the hopes that he might notice something he’d skimmed over before. He looked up from his file as Harry settled himself in his chair and pulled a folder towards him.

‘You’re in early,’ Harry said as he flipped through the folder.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Draco replied tersely. ‘Thought I might as well get a headstart on this.’

‘How’s it going? Found anything new?’ Harry said.

‘I wish. I still can’t figure out at what stage of the process they’re adding the new ingredients. Are they being added during the brewing process and the contaminated bottles then shipped with legitimate potions, or is someone intercepting the shipment and adding it to otherwise safe potions?’ Even as he spoke, Draco could feel his frustration with the case rising, compounded by his disturbed night. Why couldn’t he figure it out? What was he missing?

‘Wish I knew,’ Harry sighed. ‘Chuck me that folder, maybe reading it for the fiftieth time will reveal something we’ve missed.’

Draco complied, passing the folder Harry had indicated, and they fell silent as they began to read.

As usual, it didn’t take long for Harry to start whistling. 

At first, Draco tried to tune it out, but that soon proved impossible. He then tried constantly reminding himself that it was just a sign that Harry was working hard, that it showed that he wanted to solve the case as badly as Draco did, and that Draco should be glad he had a partner who worked so hard. But even that didn’t work, Draco’s earlier bad mood rendering him incapable of being that nice, even in his head. 

After almost two hours of constant whistling, Draco was a simmering ball of rage. Even though the song Harry was whistling was inoffensive and probably actually something Draco would like to listen to on the wireless, the constant repetition and the high pitch were driving him crazy. Draco knew he could get annoyed easily, especially by Potter, but he would challenge anyone to stay calm while listening to the same three lines of a song whistled over and over again. 

Draco had lost all focus on the case, and found himself reading and rereading the same lines, unable to take in any details. He had a headache coming on, likely caused by too much caffeine and not enough sleep, and the whistling was only adding to the pain. His hands curled tightly into fists and he clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth as he tried desperately to rein in his temper. 

He was doing so well at not hexing Harry, and was actually feeling quite proud of his restraint in the face of such irritation, when Harry had to go and speak and ruin everything. 

‘You alright, Draco? You look like you’re getting a headache or something,’ Harry said, voice full of concern. 

Draco couldn’t help it. The tenuous control he had over his annoyance disappeared, and all his frustration boiled over. 

‘Of course I’m getting a bloody headache, Potter, thanks to that infernal whistling you insist on doing!’ he snapped.

Harry looked completely blindsided, eyes wide with surprise at Draco’s sudden outburst. 

‘I didn’t realise I was doing it…’ Harry said quietly, looking nervous.

‘Well I did! It’s the single most annoying sound I’ve ever heard, and I can’t fucking stand it anymore!’ Draco had stood up without even noticing, and was towering over Harry who was still sat at his desk. 

‘Woah, Draco, where is this coming from? How am I supposed to know I’m being annoying if you don’t tell me? I’m not a mind reader!’ Harry had got up now too, and his gaze had hardened as his anger began to build. 

‘It’s coming from months of being driven crazy by that ridiculous noise!’ 

‘You should have told me! I can’t stop doing it if I don’t know I do it!’

‘How can you not know you’re making a noise like that! I knew you were unobservant but I didn’t think that extended to not knowing what you do!’

‘Oh fuck off, Malfoy. You’ve been in a stinking mood all day and I won’t let you take it out on me!’ Harry said, before grabbing his bag and storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Draco stood, shellshocked, the slam of the door reverberating in his ears, highlighting the silence of the usually noisy office. Where had that come from? He’d thought that he had quite a good grip on his temper, but he had just lost it. 

All the anger that had overpowered him drained away, guilt already rushing to fill its place. Draco sank down into his chair and dropped his head into his hands. He felt terrible. Harry hadn’t deserved that anger - Draco knew the whistling was unconscious, and knew that if he wanted to ask Harry to stop, he should have done it nicely, and not shouted it in his face. 

Draco had been an easily-angered child, and had frequently lashed out when he didn’t get his way. It was just another part of his upbringing that he’d tried desperately to shake off after the war, and he’d thought he was doing well. After all, he’d made it through months of hell from the other Auror trainees without losing his temper with them, determined that they would never see him lose his cool. 

But Harry was different. Harry had always had this ability to push all his buttons in a way that no one else had come close to. 

When they’d been boys, before they had got caught up in a war that they hadn’t caused, Harry had irritated Draco. The boy who had been a feature of stories told throughout Draco’s childhood had turned out not to be the hero that Draco had always pictured, but was instead your typical annoying Gryffindor. It used to drive him mad seeing Harry break all the rules and be praised rather than punished for it, and Draco still couldn’t think back on the moment his handshake was rejected without feeling his temper rise. 

And then they had been pulled into a pointless war by the adults who were supposed to be looking after them, and childhood rivalry became life or death enmity. Annoyance had turned into hatred, as Draco had found himself swept up in the rhetoric that surrounded him. The hatred then morphed, as Draco stopped hating Harry for being on the other side of the war, and started to hate him as a way to mask his jealousy. 

It used to drive him mad, how easy it was for Harry to make the right decisions, to be _good_. Draco hated the fact that he couldn’t do the same, that he was unable to break away from his family and stop fighting on the wrong side for once. Processing that hatred to work on the jealousy underpinning it had been an important part of the post-war recalibration of his life, made easier by the fact that it soon became clear that being good and right hadn’t spared Harry from any of the guilt and trauma that Draco shared. 

Draco had thought he was over his annoyance with Harry, had thought that Harry no longer had that effect on him, but the whistling was just too much. He felt like a 12 year old again, constantly full of irritation caused by Harry. Now, as then, he knew that he was the one in the wrong. Draco had learned something though, since his childhood, and knew that he would need to apologise if he wanted to stay on good terms with Harry.

Prepared to swallow his pride, Draco got up from his desk and pulled his coat on. His headache was in full force now, and he needed another coffee, and while he was out he could get a peace offering for Harry.

An hour later Draco was back in the office, a strong espresso leaving him fortified enough to get back to work on the case. He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t look up when Harry came back into the room. If he had looked up, he would have seen the moment when Harry’s eyes landed on the coffee and pastry sat on his desk, with a note saying _I’m sorry_ propped up in front of them. If Draco had been watching, he would have seen the way that Harry smiled as he read the note, and the way his eyes flicked over to Draco as he did so.

* * *

After several months of annoyance, it had reached the point where Draco couldn’t hear whistling without thinking of Harry.

On multiple occasions he had been walking down the street and heard whistling behind him, and hurriedly turned around, expect to see Harry strolling along behind him. Of course, it was never Harry, just a random stranger whistling chirpily as they headed home. Draco had decided not to examine too closely the disappointment he felt each time he realised that it wasn’t Harry - he was afraid of what he would discover if he did. 

The situation managed to get even worse however. Soon it wasn’t just whistling that Harry had ruined for Draco; he now couldn’t hear _music_ without thinking of Harry. It seemed like every time he turned the wireless on he would end up listening to a song that Harry loved to whistle, and then it would obviously be impossible for him to not think about Harry, and how annoying he was, with his whistling and his hair and his - his _Potterish-ness_. 

Shops were a nightmare. Apparently Harry spent a lot of time out shopping, as he seemed to whistle the exact playlist that several shops on Diagon liked to play on repeat. Draco couldn’t pop out to pick up a few potions ingredients without being aurally bombarded by songs that Harry liked to whistle, and it was playing havoc with his emotions. 

A really quite tipsy Draco explained this all to Pansy and Blaise over cocktails on one of their monthly Slytherin nights out. 

‘I just can’t get away from it! I spend all day listening to that infernal noise, and then just when I think I’ve escaped, I have to hear those damn songs again, and it just reminds me of it!’ Draco was saying, gesticulating wildly with the cocktail umbrella that had been in his now empty glass. 

Pansy and Blaise didn’t respond to his statement, just glanced at each other, smiles playing around the corners of their mouths. That didn’t put Draco off though, engrossed as he was in his rant. 

‘Seriously, you two need to appreciate your silent workplaces more, you’ve no idea how irritating it is to have to listen to that infuriating man make that horrible high pitched noise all day.’ he continued gravely.

‘Oh Merlin, Pans, do something, please, I don’t think I can bear to spend another few years listening to Draco moan about Potter again,’ Blaise said as Draco continued to mutter darkly to himself. 

‘I don’t know what you want me to do, I couldn’t stop him in sixth year, there’s no chance I can stop him now,’ Pansy replied. 

‘It’s like he’s everywhere. He’s such a dick honestly, why would he do this to me,’ Draco was mumbling, swaying slightly on his chair. 

‘Pans, do something, he’s your best mate,’ Blaise pleaded.

Pansy sighed heavily and downed the remnants of her drink before moving over to Draco and pulling him up off his chair.

‘Come on you, time to go home, you’re too drunk,’ she said, dragging him towards the exit, shouting ‘bye!’ at Blaise over her shoulder. 

After a tricky apparition, made harder by Draco’s refusal to stop fiddling with her hair, Pansy patiently walked Draco into his flat. 

‘Go on, into bed,’ she said, shooing Draco towards his bedroom, taking off his shoes for him when he simply flopped face down on his bed. 

Pansy sat down next to Draco on the bed, and began to stroke the hair back off his face, as she had done when they were teenagers still pretending to fancy one another. Draco quickly settled and seemed to be asleep when Pansy got off the bed and prepared to head home.

‘When are you finally going to admit you have feelings for him?’ she said to a sleeping Draco as she turned at the door to look at him one last time. ‘It’s so obvious, I can’t believe you don’t know.’

Pansy left the room as soon as she finished speaking, so she didn’t hear Draco mumbling into his pillow in response to her statement.

‘Mph, don’t fancy... P-potter,’ he whispered, before falling into a deep drunken sleep. 

Draco woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a vague feeling of unease. As he lay in bed, eyes tightly closed against the light that was spilling into the room through the gap in his curtains, he tried to put a finger on why he felt so weird. 

Draco wasn’t unfamiliar with post-night out regrets, and this wasn’t the first time he had woken up wondering uneasily about what exactly had happened the previous evening. He ran through his usual checklist, trying to solve the puzzle. He was in his own bed, with clothes on, and the other side of the bed didn’t look slept in, which crossed off the most likely possibility straight away. 

He racked his brain for clues as to what could have happened. It had been the monthly Slytherin night out, which explained the headache - nights with Pansy and Blaise always resulted in far too much alcohol being consumed. An image of the bar entered his mind, and slowly, very fuzzily, things started slotting into place. 

He’d turned up in a horrible mood, caused by trying to go shopping in Diagon after work on a Friday - fighting the crowds, some of whom still clearly mistrusted a Malfoy, always left Draco in a terrible state of mind. As a result of years of friendship, Pansy had spotted his mood from a mile away, and immediately ordered him a large, strong cocktail. 

He'd drunk it quickly, far quicker than he should have considering the fact that he'd only grabbed a sandwich from one of the cafés for dinner, while listening to Pansy and Blaise discuss the latest gossip. 

Once Draco was fully caught up on the scandalous behaviour of the Armstrong twins, whose mother was nearing apoplexy as a result of their many muggleborn flings, Pansy had turned to him.

‘So, Draco, how was your day? And what's got you in such a horrible mood?’ And with that simple question, Pansy opened a whole can of worms.

Draco had immediately begun complaining about how unfair it was that the wider wizarding population still treated him as persona non gratis after he had worked so hard to make amends for his crimes, a sentiment that Pansy understood all too well. Although her errors had not been as widely known or condemned as Draco's, she was still subject to glares and occasional curses from those who were aware of her part in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was a problem that affected all Slytherins of their generation; simply by virtue of their sorting they were all tarred with the same war criminal brush. 

Once Draco had worked out all his frustration with the idiots on Diagon Alley, he started in on work too. As soon as he had mentioned Harry’s name, Pansy had rolled her eyes and immediately waved over a waiter to order another drink, but had let him moan anyway. 

After that, things began to get murkier. He had a vague memory of more drinks, and had a horrible feeling that he had talked about Harry quite a lot. He thought he remembered Pansy taking him home and putting him to bed, but maybe he was just assuming that because of all the other times she had done the same thing. 

Satisfied that he had remembered as much as he could, Draco forced himself out of bed and into the shower, hoping that it would help him shake his hangover. As he stood under the stream, eyes closed, the hot water soothing his aching muscles, Draco felt something nagging at the corner of his brain. 

Slowly, so slowly, the images from his dream filtered into his mind. At first, they were just feelings, rather than clear images. An emotion that was hard to describe but could almost be called nostalgia filled his mind, a strange sense of belonging and returning home. Then lust, desire, and a fierce longing came through the fog, and Draco almost gasped at the strength of the feelings. 

That triggered the images; intertwined legs, smooth tanned skin contrasting with pale, hands roaming greedily, the softness of lips in sync with the movement of their bodies. Draco felt himself hardening at the memory of the dream, blown away by the passion that still lingered, even in his faint recollections. 

And the man. The man was so familiar, his identity so close that Draco could feel it on the tip of his tongue, but his face and name stayed adamantly just out of Draco’s reach. Draco groaned with frustration, desperate to know the identity of the man he had obviously felt such passion for. 

Draco closed his eyes, letting himself sink back into the heat of the dream as he reached down and began to gently stroke himself. He let the memories flow over him, losing himself in the half-remembered feeling of lingering touches and passionate kisses. He was breathing heavily, legs starting to shake as he quickly got closer and closer to climax. What felt like seconds later, Draco curled into himself, gasping as he spilled over his fingers, the strength of his orgasm taking him by surprise.

Even more shocking than the pleasure flooding through his body however, was the image from his dream that had flashed into his mind just as he had come. 

His hands wrapped tightly in unbelievably messy black hair, lust-filled green eyes meeting his as they moved together in perfect harmony. 

_Fuck_.

Draco was in shock. Where had that come from? And what did it mean?

 

The dream and his moment in the shower lingered in Draco’s mind for the rest of the day. He was still in disbelief that he had thought of Harry like that, and was completely baffled as to where it had come from. 

And yet, every time he thought about it, he felt his pulse start to race and his cock start to thicken.

By early evening, Draco was frustrated and fed up. The only explanation he’d managed to come up with to explain the dream was pure sexual frustration - it had obviously been too long since he had gotten laid. He decided that a trip out clubbing was the solution. 

10 o’clock saw Draco sat at the bar of one of his favourite clubs in the heart of London, savouring his second glass of whiskey. The alcohol in his veins, in addition to the lights and music of the club combined with the lust that had been swirling through his body all day to put him in a blissful, hazy state of mind. He watched the dancefloor, entranced by the lights flashing across beautiful bodies as they moved in time with the beat of the music, enjoying the thump of the bass as it vibrated through his body. 

As he watched, Draco noticed that one of the men dancing nearby was watching him. Draco smiled back at the man when their eyes met, feeling his body respond automatically to the interest he saw on the man’s face. 

The man, tall and dark just like Draco preferred, crooked a finger Draco’s way, inviting him on to the dancefloor. Draco downed the remnants of his drink and made his way over to the man, eager to start the process of getting those images of Harry out of his head. 

Without a word, Draco and the other man began to dance together, the way their bodies pressed together dispelling any need to articulate what they wanted. Draco quickly lost himself in the familiar routines of pulling at a club, in the way it felt as their chests pressed against each other as they danced, in the sensation of the other man’s breath ghosting across his face as they leaned in towards each other. He could feel the anticipation building, let himself get sucked in to the tension that was growing between them as their lips met.  
It wasn’t the best kiss Draco had ever had, but it was good enough for a one night stand, and it quickly became heated, their dancing turning into glorified grinding. The lust which had been plaguing him all day managed to get even stronger, and Draco was desperate to sate it. 

He was just about to suggest heading back to his flat when he heard it. 

The DJ had changed the track so smoothly that Draco hardly noticed it at first. That is, until the main hook of the song started playing. Harry had been whistling that song earlier in the week, driving Draco crazy with his constant repetition of the same few lines. Draco could feel himself getting annoyed already, the irritation seemingly an automatic reflex at this point. He was determined to ignore it though, and pulled his dance partner in for another passionate kiss.

But something wasn’t right. The kiss which had been so hot just minutes earlier had lost all of its spice, and Draco couldn’t tune out the song pounding through the speakers. The memories of his dream were filtering into his mind again, crowding out the man in front of him. 

Everything that had seemed attractive about the man earlier now just seemed wrong. He was too tall, and too thin, lacking the wide chest and broad shoulders that had made such an impact in his dream. His hair wasn’t quite the right shade of brown, and was far too neatly styled, and he kissed all wrong, missing the passion and slight roughness of the kisses he had dreamed about. 

All the lust that Draco had been feeling vanished as he realised that he didn’t want this man. He hadn’t just needed to get laid. After that dream about Harry, nothing but the man himself would do. 

Draco pulled away, putting some distance between himself and his dance partner. 

‘I’m sorry, I have to go,’ he said awkwardly, turning and walking away, ignoring the confused protests that followed him.

Draco ducked into the first alley he could find, mind whirling as he fumbled for his wand and apparated to his flat. 

He sank down on to his sofa, head in hands. What was going on? How could Harry have got to him this badly? They were coworkers, friends even, but nothing more. And yet Draco’s mind was now filled with images of him and Harry in a club, pressed tightly together as they danced, heat flooding his body at just the thought of how Harry would feel against him. 

Oh, Merlin. Draco was in trouble. 

 

Draco spent the next few days in an uncomfortable fog as he wrestled with the revelation he’d experienced at the club on Saturday night. 

Sunday had involved more self-examination and stress, exacerbated by the raging hangover caused by the firewhiskey he’d sunk after he arrived home. If Draco was honest with himself, the realisation that he had a bit of a thing for Harry wasn’t a complete surprise. Working with Harry had provided plenty of opportunities for Draco to notice that Harry was attractive; all the hours in the Auror gym had helped Harry grow from a malnourished child into a well-built man, and the time they spent together in their office had informed him that Harry was clever, and quick, and annoyingly funny. Previously he’d just written it off as a surface attraction - he could appreciate that someone looked fit without actually fancying them. The past few days were suggesting that perhaps that wasn’t the case though.

He felt annoyingly jittery on Monday morning, and spent far too long examining his appearance in the mirror before he headed into work. He was frustrated with himself for stooping so low when there was no need to worry about how he looked. Nothing was going to happen with Harry, after all. 

He tried to behave normally, not wanting Harry to catch on to the life-altering, world-shaking revelation Draco had experienced. Luckily, Harry appeared to have had a completely normal weekend, sloping in to the office a few minutes late as he usually did on a Monday.

‘Morning,’ he said, far too perkily for first thing on a Monday morning. ‘Good weekend?’

‘It was fine,’ Draco said. ‘How was yours?’ he added quickly, not wanting to give Harry a chance to probe more into Draco’s weekend.

‘Yeah, it was good. Had Sunday lunch at the Burrow, played pick up Quidditch, the usual,’ Harry said. 

‘Sounds terrible,’ Draco said, only half sarcastically. He and Harry might be on good terms now, but that didn’t mean he liked the sound of a weekend with the whole Weasley gang. 

‘You’re just worried you still couldn’t beat me in a game of Quidditch,’ Harry laughed.

‘You wish, I would destroy you easily,’ Draco shot back, quickly responding to the prospect of a verbal spat with Harry. 

‘Yeah right! I’ll believe that when I see it.’

‘Well you’re never getting me to a Weasel match, so lucky for you you’ll be spared the humiliation,’ Draco said, relieved that he was managing to talk to Harry normally. 

After that they got stuck into their case quickly, stressed about how long it was taking them to solve it, and for a while Draco successfully managed to forget that there was anything different about the day. 

Then, as always, Harry started to whistle, and that was enough to make Draco remember everything. He looked up and found himself watching Harry as he read and whistled, entranced by the shape of Harry’s mouth as his lips pursed. He found himself idly wondering what it would be like to kiss that mouth, whether Harry’s lips would be as soft as they looked. He wondered if being with Harry would be like it was in his dream, and quickly found himself sinking into a fantasy in which Harry was pressing him against the wall of their office as they kissed.

He was only pulled out of his reverie by the sound of Harry’s chair scraping across the floor as he adjusted his position. Draco hurriedly returned his gaze to his file, hoping desperately that his cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. It seemed as though Harry hadn’t noticed anything though, as he just asked Draco about a bit of evidence that could help them with the case. 

Every interaction Draco had with Harry over the rest of the week was tinged with his new knowledge, and he found himself paying more attention to Harry than he ever had before. He was constantly, painfully aware of Harry’s location, of how close he was to Draco, of the way his body reacted to Harry’s proximity. 

Every evening he would go home and lose himself in fantasies of Harry, inevitably ending up with his hand down his trousers as he brought himself off to visions of Harry touching him, kissing him, fucking him. Draco was quickly becoming obsessed with Harry. 

Draco kept hoping that his sudden overpowering attraction to Harry would disappear as quickly as it had arrived, but as was often the case in his life, he was shit out of luck. 

 

One of the many surprising things about Draco’s life after the war was the fact that he now called Hermione Granger a friend. Unlike a lot of the changes in his life, this one hadn’t been caused by Harry. Instead, one day Hermione had come up to Draco when he was waiting in the queue for the Ministry canteen, and immediately started talking his ear off about an article she had read. Draco had just stood there, too shocked to do anything other than nod occasionally, but that seemed to be enough for Hermione.

From then on, Hermione had apparently decided that they were friends, as she started regularly chatting to Draco when she saw him in the Ministry hallways. It turned out that they had a lot in common, both being very interested in academia and magical theory. Several time Draco had had to fight back the uncharitable thought that it wasn’t surprising that Hermione had sought him out to discuss intellectual topics, after so many years putting up with the distinctly un-intellectual Harry and Weasley. 

Draco soon began to look forward to their conversations, and would often find himself mentally tucking away a fact he had read, ready for him to share in their next conversation. Their meetings sometimes dissolved into debates when they disagreed on the conclusion of an article, but in general, they were simply friendly chats. 

One dull Wednesday afternoon Draco headed down to the canteen in search of coffee to get him through the rest of the day and, if he was being honest, to give his ears a break from Harry’s latest favourite song - _Never Had A Dream Come True_. 

Draco was deep in thought, waiting patiently in the queue, when he was tapped on the shoulder. He turned around and was greeted by Hermione’s bright smile.

‘Mind if I join you?’ she said.

‘Of course not,’ Draco said, moving over so that Hermione could join him in the queue. 

‘Merlin, I’m desperate for a coffee. I’m losing my mind trying to read the report Williamson’s just sent me, his handwriting is just appalling.’ 

‘You think your day is bad, just be thankful you’re not being subjected to Harry whistling _S Club 7_ on repeat while you’re trying to concentrate,’ Draco said darkly, before ordering his coffee from the waiting barista. 

‘I didn’t know Harry could whistle,’ Hermione replied, pausing to order her drink too, ‘but I can imagine how that would be annoying. That song drives me mad when it comes on the wireless.’

Draco was confused. How could Hermione not know that Harry could whistle?

‘What do you mean? He whistles all the time,’ Draco said, frowning. 

‘Well I’ve never heard it,’ Hermione said simply as they picked up their drinks and made their way over to an empty table. ‘Maybe he’s only comfortable enough to do it in front of you.’ 

Draco pondered that thought for a moment, his stomach doing a little flip as his pining mind leapt to the most unlikely conclusions. His feelings for Harry were clearly getting out of hand if he was now at the point of over examining everything in the hope that it might mean Harry liked him too. 

Hermione jolted him out of his lovesick reflections by waving a hand in front of his face. 

‘Hello? Anybody in?’ she teased.

‘Sorry, sorry, I was just, uh, daydreaming,’ Draco said, praying his face wouldn’t flush and give away the direction of his thoughts. ‘What were you saying?’

‘I was asking if you’ve read this month’s _Transfiguration Today_? They had a very interesting article about the problems of transfiguring Muggle electronics that I think you’d enjoy.’

‘Oh, yes, that was a good article,’ Draco said, desperately trying to refocus his mind, ‘I’m not sure I completely agreed with the author’s stance on it being too difficult though.’

‘Me neither!’ said Hermione, eyes shining with the fervour that always accompanied their debates. She launched into an impassioned explanation of her rationale for disagreeing with the article, and Draco sipped at his coffee, settling in for another entertaining conversation.

Nearly 45 minutes later, and Draco was finally on his way back to his office, having finished putting the world to rights with Hermione. He felt invigorated again, mind reawakened by the intellectual challenge that Hermione always posed, and ready to get back to work. 

His focus on work evaporated quickly when he re-entered his office to find Harry sat at his desk in just a rumpled shirt with the sleeves pushed up above his elbows. Harry was never usually one for uniform, and tended to shuck off his Auror robes as soon as he walked in the door, usually revealing a worn t shirt or hoodie. 

Today though, Harry seemed to have made an attempt to actually follow the Auror dress code. The robes were gone of course, thrown haphazardly over the bookcase in the corner of their office, but for once he had actually worn a shirt and tie, as regulation decreed. 

Draco decided that he was very grateful that Harry was the type to ignore rules, as his heart seemed to be having an issue with Harry in a shirt. The material was stretched tightly across Harry’s broad shoulders, and the bright white material contrasted beautifully with Harry’s tanned skin. And his forearms, Merlin. What was it about men’s forearms in shirts? Draco couldn’t even put it into words, the feeling that those tanned, muscled arms evoked in him. 

Draco shook himself, forcing himself to move and go and sit down like a normal person, rather than standing in the doorway ogling Harry like a creep. He would just not look up for the rest of the afternoon, and everything would be okay. He would be able to control himself and ensure that Harry didn’t notice the reaction he had caused. 

He picked up the file he had been working on before his coffee break, and attempted to focus. His concentration was broken immediately though by Harry asking how his break had been. Draco answered quickly, trying to avoid being drawn into a conversation that would involve him having to look at Harry any more than necessary. Hermione’s words about Harry only whistling in front of Draco were still rolling around his brain, and he knew that looking at Harry, especially while the other man looked like that, would have him jumping to conclusions that could only ever be wishful thinking. 

But the thought that Hermione had put into Draco’s head just wouldn’t go away. 

Over the next few weeks, Draco paid more attention to Harry than he already did, eyes peeled for any hint of Harry treating him differently than he treated other people. He knew that they had become friends, of course, but he didn’t think that warranted special treatment from Harry. But if Harry didn’t even whistle in front of his actual best friends, what did that say about his relationship with Draco?

At first, Draco couldn’t tell if he was making things up, his overactive imagination catering to his fantasies by pretending that Harry was in fact acting differently around Draco. He didn’t think he was imagining the fact that Harry did seem to touch him a lot though, probably more than was required for Auror partners. 

If Harry needed to get Draco’s attention, he wouldn’t say his name, he would reach over and tap Draco on the arm. 

If they were walking somewhere together, Harry would walk so close to Draco that their hands would nearly brush with every step. 

If Harry was leaving for the evening and Draco was still working, Harry would pat Draco on the shoulder on his way out of the room. 

If they were sat in a meeting together and Harry found something funny or wanted to point something out to Draco, he would knock Draco’s foot with his own.

Draco had always just thought Harry was a particularly tactile person, but with his newfound awareness of everything Harry Potter related, he realised that Harry wasn’t like this with everyone. 

With vague acquaintances he was closed off, kept his distance, and never revealed more than he needed to. With the general public and especially the press he was downright wary, visibly uncomfortable, and usually sporting a stern if not scary expression that served to keep people well away. 

Even with people he was close to, he was never as touchy-feely as he was with Draco. He would hug Ron and Hermione if they were saying goodbye, but the hugs were never initiated by Harry. And yet Harry always seemed to be finding reasons to touch Draco.

Every time their bodies made contact, however innocent it was, Draco’s heart would skip a beat. It got to the point where he was hyper aware of where Harry was at all times, constantly waiting for the next time Harry would touch him. Draco’s nerves were shredded from the constant anticipation, and he would get home each evening exhausted from spending all day in such a state of heightened awareness. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

* * *

Draco was having one of his usual coffee debates with Hermione when she first mentioned her birthday. 

He knew it was coming; they’d been friends now for long enough that her birthday was one of the ones he remembered. He hadn’t expected the words that came out of her mouth that day though. 

‘So, Draco,’ she began, in a business-like tone that made him think she was about to start another debate with him. ‘It’s my birthday next week.’ 

Taken aback by the choice of topic, Draco had simply nodded and let Hermione continue speaking. 

‘I didn’t really know what to do for it, but Ginny insisted that I do something, so we’re all going to the pub, and then out dancing.’ 

‘That sounds nice.’ Draco said, unsure why she was telling him this. 

‘You should come.’ Hermione said simply. 

‘Are you sure?’ Draco said after a moment’s pause while he processed what she had said. 

‘Of course! You’re my friend, I want you there.’

Draco shouldn’t have been surprised by that; he’d considered Hermione his friend for a while after all, but it still took him aback that she wanted him at her birthday night out. 

‘I’ll be there.’ Draco promised. 

Draco spent the rest of the week consumed with anxiety about the night out. He was comfortable spending time with Hermione now, and obviously had a good relationship with Harry, but the other Gryffindors were an unknown quantity. He had no idea how they would react to seeing him, whether they would be unhappy with him infiltrating their group. Part of him was dreading a repeat of his first months of Auror training. 

On top of that, his still growing obsession with Harry meant that he was nervous about the idea of seeing Harry outside of the office. Draco had a notoriously loose tongue when he was drunk, and he was worried that he would accidentally give away his feelings for Harry without meaning to. He couldn’t decide what would be worse - admitting he liked Harry without meaning to, or having to watch Harry pull someone else in the club. He didn’t think his fragile heart could take that at the moment.

The night of the party, Draco dressed carefully, trying to look his best without looking like he’d tried too hard. After multiple outfit changes that ended with him putting back on the first outfit he’d tried on, he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and apparated to the pub Hermione had told him to meet them at. 

Draco’s careful preparations meant that he arrived later than he had planned to, and therefore was the last member of their group to arrive at the pub. His stomach wrapped itself up in knots as he approached the table full of Gryffindors, and he fought back the urge to turn round and run away before they noticed him. 

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Harry looked up and spotted Draco just as he was about to give in to the desire to leave. A wide grin split Harry’s face as he caught sight of Draco, and he waved Draco over eagerly, scooting over to create a space at the table for him. Draco made his way over to the table, grateful that Harry was being so overtly welcoming to him, hoping that the other Gryffindors would then follow his lead. 

As he sat down, he said hello to everyone at the table, and received a few hellos back, in addition to several tentative nods from Ron, Seamus and George. Draco passed a beautifully wrapped present over to a clearly already quite tipsy Hermione who was sat across from him, a tiara perched wonkily on top of her curly hair. As Hermione cooed over the books that Draco had selected for her, Harry nipped off to the bar, quickly returning with a pint for himself and for Draco. 

‘Thanks for coming tonight by the way, Hermione really wanted you here,’ Harry said as he placed Draco’s pint in front of him.

‘I was happy to be asked,’ Draco said, ‘and I couldn’t miss out on a chance to see how Gryffindors party.’ 

‘I bet it’s not as wild as a Slytherin party.’ 

‘Well of course not, you lot could never compete with us.’

‘Maybe one day I’ll be lucky enough to be invited and then we’ll see.’

‘Maybe.’ Draco said, sipping his pint to hide the way his pulse kicked up a gear at the thought of Harry being close enough to him to attend one of his nights out with Pansy and Blaise. 

Before Draco could continue their conversation any further, Ron pulled Harry in to a conversation about Quidditch that Draco was sat just slightly too far away to hear over the noise of the busy pub. To cover his unease at being left without the symbolic protection that Harry provided him, Draco took a long drink of his pint, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t spend the whole evening on the periphery like this. 

‘Hi, Draco,’ came a voice to his right, jolting him out of his anxious spiral.

‘Oh, hello, Luna,’ Draco said once he had turned around. ‘How are you?’

‘Well, you know, fine. The Blibbering Humdingers are mating so the atmosphere is a bit hazy, but apart from that, life is good.’

Draco didn’t really know what to say to that - although he and Luna had repaired their relationship after the events of the war, he still found her very confusing to talk to, and never quite knew how to react to her. 

Luckily, Luna never seemed to mind his quietness, always more than happy to fill in the silence by herself, and Draco always enjoyed listening to her stories. She quickly started telling Draco all about the latest trip she had been on, explaining why the Plimpies in Norway were far more fascinating to study than their English counterparts. 

At first, Draco listened intently, interjecting questions and comments when he could, sipping his drink slowly as Luna talked. He genuinely was interested in her explorations, even if he struggled to believe in the creatures she mentioned sometimes. 

But then Harry moved, and Draco couldn’t help being distracted. As the evening had gone on, the pub had got busier and busier, and they were all now crammed tightly around the tables, their personal space gradually being reduced each time they had to scoot their chairs closer to each other. 

And now Harry had moved even closer. His thigh was now pressed firmly against Draco’s, and Draco couldn’t pull his awareness away from the heat of Harry’s body against his. He felt almost sick with nerves and excitement, his heart pounding and his cock starting to thicken. Draco couldn’t focus on anything else, the feel of Harry’s thigh becoming the centre of his world.

He was so, so fucked. 

Belatedly, Draco realised that Luna had stopped talking and was just looking at him, a small smile on her face. 

‘Sorry, Luna, I zoned out a bit there,’ Draco began awkwardly, trying to cover up his distraction.

Luna just waved a hand gently in the air, brushing off Draco’s concern. 

‘It’s alright, Draco, I understand,’ she said brightly, before jumping to her feet. ‘Shall we go dancing now?’ she asked the table to cheers of agreement from most of the guests.

Draco was just about to open his mouth to excuse himself, already imagining going home and indulging in a long, slow wank while remembering the sensation of Harry pressed against him, when Harry turned to him.

‘You coming?’ Harry said.

All Draco’s reasons for leaving dissolved on his tongue. He couldn’t say no to Harry, so just nodded. He’d follow Harry anywhere at this point, go anywhere he asked if it meant he could spend more time watching the way Harry’s eyes sparkled and his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and heat of the pub. 

A big grin spread across Harry’s face as Draco confirmed he would come out, Draco’s heart aching at the beautiful sight. If only Harry would smile at him like that all the time. 

They ended up in a club just a few streets away, Draco following the group in a daze, still shaken from the events of the evening so far, still feeling as though he was in a waking dream. The alcohol he had consumed in the pub was beginning to make its presence known, and he felt the warmth of it spreading through his veins, the world starting to take on a hazy beauty enhanced by the reflections of the street lights in the puddles. 

Another drink was pressed into his hand as they entered the club, an overly sweet cocktail that he could only bear to sip slowly. Before he could get his bearings and finish the drink, Hermione was pulling him onto the dancefloor, dragging him by the hand through a mass of people until they reached a patch of space in the middle of the room. 

Draco knew that he was a good dancer. He didn’t go out often, life as an Auror taking up too much of his time and energy, but when he did, he knew people watched him. And not in the way that he was watched in the Wizarding world - hard, angry stares, or quick, nervous glances. These looks were admiring, longing, lusting. 

He could feel the looks already tonight, could sense the eyes on him as he moved, letting the rhythm of the music spread through his body. He took Hermione’s hand and twirled her around, her tiara nearly falling off as she spun, her laugh just audible over the music. Then Luna and Ginny were there, dancing with him, and Draco’s heart was light, so light. All his anxiety about the evening had been for nothing, and he felt the weight of his worries slide off his shoulders as the Gryffindors who should have hated him welcomed him into their group. 

Draco had got so caught up in the music and the movement of the crowd around him that for a moment he even managed to forget about Harry. 

But then he looked up to find Harry stood on the edge of the group, eyes locked on Draco, an inscrutable look on his face. 

For a moment, Draco lost track of the beat, lost his ability to move, and nearly stumbled, too overwhelmed by the way Harry looked. The multi-coloured lights were lighting up Harry’s face, glinting off his glasses, staining his hair first blue, then purple, then pink, then red. He was holding a half drunk beer, and wasn’t dancing at all, was just standing there, unnoticed by his friends. 

Just standing, watching Draco with wide eyes.

Draco met Harry’s eyes, spotted the moment when Harry realised that Draco was looking back at him, taking in the way Harry momentarily glanced away before looking back, as though he couldn’t keep his eyes off Draco. 

For long minutes, or maybe an age, they stayed like that, Harry standing frozen, Draco dancing, eye contact never wavering. Draco knew something had changed, could feel the energy building between them, the nightclub suddenly full of a crackling tension, like static in the air. The promise of something more, something new, hung between them, and Draco felt anticipation blooming in his chest. All his doubts that this thing was one sided vanished as he watched Harry watching him. 

He was jolted out of his trance by Dean bumping into him, the spell broken as his eyes were forced away from Harry’s, leaving him feeling as though he’d had cold water dumped over him. He brushed off Dean’s apologies, hurrying to reassure the other man that it was fine, he was fine, even though his heart ached at losing the feeling of whatever was building with Harry. 

When he looked up again, Harry was making his way over to them, the only sign of what had passed between them a slightly dazed look on his face. Harry didn’t say anything to Draco when he joined the group, simply beginning to dance with the others, but he couldn’t hide the way his gaze kept flicking over to Draco, the way the electricity began to build again. Draco couldn’t believe the others couldn’t feel it - how could they not feel the crackle of it against their skin, their nerves coming alive at the feeling? Draco felt drunk on it, the heady rush of excitement making him woozy, unable to concentrate on anything other than Harry. 

Unable to tear himself away, Draco kept dancing, even as people slowly began to peel off, saying their goodbyes and heading home for the night. In stark contrast to the reluctance he had begun the night with, Draco couldn’t bear the thought of going home now, of breaking the spell that had been woven, of leaving Harry. He felt as though he was teetering on a knife edge, that tonight was _the_ night, the one chance for something with Harry, a chance he couldn’t risk losing.

And if that meant staying here all night, that’s what he would do. 

Finally, _finally_ , it was just Draco and Harry left. 

Luna and Ginny had been the last to leave, Luna whispering _good luck_ in Draco’s ear as she said goodbye. 

And then they were gone, and he and Harry were alone. 

The crowd around them faded into nothing, Draco’s world narrowing to just Harry. The tension was back, flooding over Draco as he and Harry looked at each other. Draco stood still, finally stopping dancing, giving up on the pretence that he was here to dance. 

He waited. 

Waited for Harry to make the first move, for Harry to summon up his famous Gryffindor courage and do what Draco was too nervous to do. 

It was the longest minute of Draco’s life. His pulse thundered through his veins, sickening anxiety filling his stomach as he wondered if he had misjudged it all. Oh Merlin, what if Harry didn’t want this? Draco didn’t think he could cope with that, didn’t know how he could come back from this. A fantasy was one thing, but he was so close he could almost taste it. If he lost it all now, he would be ruined. 

But then Harry took a tentative step forwards. 

It was the tiniest step, so small it would hardly be noticeable if you weren’t looking. 

But Draco was looking. 

And that small, hesitant step was enough to make Draco’s heart soar, a completely involuntary smile appearing on his face. 

Harry returned his smile with a breathtaking grin, and took another step forwards. 

And then Draco was moving too. And then the remaining distance between them was gone, and they were close enough to reach out and touch, so close that Draco could feel the heat radiating off Harry’s skin. 

Draco extended a trembling hand and placed it on Harry’s waist, marvelling at the sensation of finally being able to touch him. Harry exhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and Draco revelled in the thought that even such a slight touch could have Harry reacting so strongly. Bolstered by Harry’s reaction, Draco pulled Harry closer, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist.

They were pressed chest to chest, Draco’s head tilted down slightly so that he could keep looking at Harry. Harry’s eyes had darkened, the pupils blown wide as he stared at Draco, his arms coming up to wind around Draco’s shoulders.

Fighting his rapidly rising desire, Draco slowly started to move in an approximation of the dancing Harry had so enjoyed watching earlier. He knew he could kiss Harry now, knew that Harry wanted it as badly as he did, but he didn’t want to rush this. If this was all he was going to get, then he wanted to make it last, to eke out every moment that he could. 

And so they danced. They stayed pressed tightly together, bodies connected and eyes fixed on each other, letting the tension between them grow and grow and grow. Draco was aching with desire, his cock hard and leaking in his trousers. He could feel Harry’s hardness against him too, a thick line pressing into his thigh, a tantalising promise of what more was to come. 

But still Draco didn’t move to take things forward. He contented himself with watching the lust written across Harry’s features grow stronger, more desperate, wanting Harry to need this as badly as he did. 

Just as Draco was reaching the point of being unable to wait any longer, Harry spoke. 

‘Draco,’ he said breathlessly, ‘ _please_.’

The desire in Harry’s voice was like a punch in the stomach, so overpowering that Draco momentarily forgot how to breathe, his own need swallowing him whole. Draco couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to respond to the naked want in Harry’s voice, so he did the only thing he could. 

He lifted a hand to tilt Harry’s chin up just a fraction, relishing the way Harry’s breath hitched as he did so. And then, slowly, oh so slowly, Draco brought his lips to Harry’s, kissing him so so softly. 

There were no words to describe how it felt when Draco’s lips met Harry’s. The kiss may have been small, just a gentle brushing of lips and a ghosting of breath, but it lit a fire inside Draco. All his restraint vanished as he kissed Harry again, and again, and again, their mouths opening as they melted into each other. 

It was like nothing he had ever felt before. 

Draco’d had his fair share of kisses over the years but none of them had made his skin tingle like this, or made his skin break out in goosebumps. He found himself starting up a slow grind against Harry, their dance transforming as his body unconsciously sought out the heat and pressure of Harry’s body, desperate to relieve some of the ache in his now painfully hard cock. Harry was pressing back against him, gasping in between kisses, eyes blown wide with lust. The sight of him was enough to make Draco’s cock throb, so close to the edge just from kissing.

Draco lost all awareness of time as they kissed, so lost in the blissful feeling of Harry’s lips on his. Even the pounding music and the press of the crowd around them couldn’t pull him out of the dreamlike state he found himself in. 

Harry was the one to pull back, lips swollen and hair even wilder than normal.

‘Do you-,’ Harry began, struggling to catch his breath, ‘do you want to get out of here?’ 

‘Merlin, _yes_ ,’ Draco said without hesitation. 

Smiling, Harry took Draco’s hand, interlinking their fingers in a swift movement that made Draco’s heart skip a beat. Harry led them through the crowd towards the exit, and with each step they took Draco felt his excitement build. This was really, truly happening. 

Once they had made it out of the club they stood on the pavement and looked at each other for a long moment. A fine drizzle was falling now, the droplets mixing with the rapidly cooling sweat on their skin. Draco leaned in to kiss Harry again, desperate to close the distance between them, scared that Harry would change his mind if they stopped kissing for too long.

‘Come to mine?’ Harry said in between kisses, laughing when Draco nodded enthusiastically in response. 

They stopped kissing long enough for Harry to side-along Draco to his flat, although they remained tightly pressed against each other as they did so. 

Draco only managed to take a quick glance at the cosy living room they appeared in before Harry was kissing him once more, this kiss somehow even more passionate than their kisses in the club. There was no doubt now what this was leading to, and Draco felt himself go almost dizzy with lust at the thought. 

Harry’s hands had made their way to the buttons of Draco’s shirt, slowly unbuttoning them one by one. Draco slipped his hand under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt to touch the skin underneath it, delighting in the feel of that soft, warm skin against his fingers. He let his fingers gradually roam across Harry’s hip bone, exploring the dip that led so tantalisingly down towards his trousers, revelling in the moan that his touch dragged out of Harry. 

His shirt was pushed off his shoulders, and he let it drop to the floor, hating the seconds that he had to stop touching Harry to do so. Harry’s shirt immediately followed Draco’s, revealing the muscled planes of Harry’s chest, the acres of skin making Draco’s prick throb with desire. 

Draco was about to reach out for Harry again, desperate to press himself against that chest, when Harry reached out a shaking finger. He delicately traced one of the white lines that still criss crossed over Draco’s chest, touch so light that it made Draco shiver. 

‘I did that,’ Harry said quietly. 

Draco could only nod, throat suddenly choked up with emotion, unsure of what the right thing to say was. 

‘I’m sorry, Draco, I’m so fucking sorry,’ Harry whispered, the lust vanishing from his eyes to be replaced with the shadows of their past. 

Draco placed his own hand over Harry’s, holding Harry’s palm flat against his chest, knowing that Harry could hear how fast his heart was beating. 

‘It was a long time ago, Harry,’ he said, matching Harry’s quiet tone, picking his words carefully, knowing how important this moment was to the prospect of them ever being more. ‘I forgave you a long time ago.’

Harry looked like he was going to say more, but Draco didn’t let him, not wanting their past to ruin this for them, determined that their past wouldn’t stop them from experiencing something so wonderful. 

‘Take me to bed, Harry.’ 

No more words were spoken as Harry led Draco to his bedroom, as they began kissing again. 

They slowly stripped each other of their remaining clothes, kisses pausing as they took in each other’s bodies, their nakedness removing the last barrier between them. 

Draco moaned as Harry sunk to his knees and began to slowly, teasingly, lick his cock, even that small contact so blissful. He tangled his hands in that hair he had always hated as Harry took him in deeper, losing himself in the heat of Harry’s mouth around him. 

Harry seemed to sense when Draco was on the verge of losing control, pulling off just as Draco began to feel his orgasm build. Without a word, Harry pulled Draco over to his bed, his body weight pressing Draco down into the mattress as their lips met again, Harry’s hips starting up an agonising grind against Draco. 

The feel of Harry against him, on him, their cocks lining up as they moved, had Draco wondering if he was dreaming. Nothing real could feel this good.

As Harry moved between Draco’s legs again and started to prepare him, fingers and tongue opening him up, Draco marvelled at how perfectly in sync they were, at how Harry knew exactly what he needed without him having to say a word. 

And then Harry was slowly pressing into him, and Draco lost all ability to think. The feeling of Harry inside him, filling him up so perfectly, was like nothing he had ever experienced before. The room was dimly lit, Harry’s warmth and the soft covers underneath him only making it more dreamlike. Their heavy breathing was the only sound, interspersed with sighs and moans of pleasure. 

Draco’s heart felt so full as he locked eyes with Harry, the blissful look in those green eyes only intensifying Draco’s pleasure. All the desire that Draco had been keeping locked down tight inside him burst out as he kissed Harry, all his unsaid feelings pouring into the kiss. 

Soon, far too soon, Draco could feel his orgasm building, Harry’s name escaping from his lips as he came hard over his stomach, Harry following him over the cliff seconds later. Even as the pleasure coursed through his body, so much more intense than anything he’d ever felt with anyone else, all he could think was _Harry, Harry, Harry_.

* * *

Draco rose to consciousness ever so slowly, his exhausted body fighting to remain asleep even as his mind began to take in his surroundings. He had a vague sense that something was unusual about the morning, that something was different, but his sleep-addled mind couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. 

The first thing to give it away was the smell of the pillowcase under his head. It was a nice scent, one that was familiar to him but not the one he usually woke up to. That one realisation led to a train of others. The sheets felt different under his skin, and the light of the weak morning sun was shining on his face rather than on his feet as it did normally. 

Then, the memories flooded back, so intense that Draco nearly gasped out loud at the rush of joy that hit him. He remembered the look on Harry’s face as they had moved together, remembered the incredible feeling of pleasure and love that had flooded his body as they came together. As Draco remembered, he opened his eyes, looking for Harry, his hand automatically reaching out to the other side of the bed. 

His hand was met by crumpled sheets, still holding on to a hint of the warmth from Harry’s body. There was no sign of Harry in the room, and Draco felt himself start to worry. Did Harry regret what had happened? Had he got up, unable to bear staying in bed next to Draco? Was he trying to put off having to tell Draco that this had been a mistake, that he didn’t want anything more, that they should just stay friends? Draco’s heart was sinking, tears threatening to build in his eyes as he contemplated a life in which he couldn’t have Harry, a life of knowing how amazing they could be together but not being able to have that.

But then Draco heard a faint sound from downstairs. 

A sound that was unbelievably familiar. 

Harry was whistling to himself. 

And not only that, he was whistling one of the songs that they had danced to the night before.

A smile spread across Draco’s face as he felt his heart fill with hope. Maybe everything would be okay, maybe Harry didn’t regret it at all. 

Draco sank back into the pillows, boneless with relief. He closed his eyes, letting the sound of whistling wash over him. Gradually, other sounds became audible too. He could hear a bubbling kettle, the hiss of what sounded like bacon in a frying pan, the clanking of plates and cutlery. 

And always, always the whistling, floating above the other sounds. 

Draco marvelled at how a sound that had always annoyed him so much could suddenly sound sweeter than any morning bird song, astonished by how much had changed between him and Harry in such a short time.

The last thought he had before Harry burst into the room, tray laden with food balanced haphazardly in his arms, was that he wouldn’t mind waking up to that whistle more often.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading the fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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